


A Peculiar Curative, Most Advantageous

by asemic



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Prostate Milking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 04:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: Three upstanding and uptight lieutenants and a medical examination.





	A Peculiar Curative, Most Advantageous

**Author's Note:**

> My new OT3: these three and a compromising situation.

The lack of privacy on the ship always made itself known, but at the moment it became physically intolerable. Only the captains were granted a private physical examination; everyone else found themselves placed in groups to strip and be manipulated in the name of efficiency. 

“Arms above your head.” McDonald's voice maintained its usual even quality though an edge of frustration slipped out when the lieutenants hesitated. They continued to cup their genitals and anxiously tap their bare toes. “Gentlemen, please. Think of the number of men I must see.” 

Little led by example and stretched up then out. The rest followed and made a show of keeping their focus on the space before them while they awkwardly demonstrated balance and a full range of motion. Each was praised for their flexibility, all of them able to touch the floor with their fingertips. 

“I see you're continuing with your calisthenics. You'll lose muscle tone over the course of the journey, but we'll do our best to keep you fit and fully mobile. Mr. Little, on the table.” 

“Pardon?”

McDonald's lips straightened into a line and gestured. A moment's hesitation then Little obeyed. At least the doctor was kind enough to warm his palms before palpating along his torso. Using an even pressure with a slight tapping motion every now and then led Little to believe he tested for hollows in wood and not internal difficulties. He cleared his throat when the pressing fingers marched around his groin before manipulating his penis. He did as McDonald told him, breathing for three then exhaling for three; three shaking breaths in and two out, then two then four. 

Irving steadied his own breathing until he heard a quaver come from the corner. How curious. He never noticed but the counter before them had a large looking glass at a precise angle to reveal Little. Thick and dark-haired thighs remained splayed while his scrotum rested in a rolling palm. While Little tried to count each inhale and Irving swallowed needles down his throat, Hodgson's came quick and shallow. Each sharply raised his bird-boned chest and became audible. 

“It's natural, but do control yourself,” McDonald assured when he stopped stroking his patient and noticed the slightly elevated state. He flipped through his mental compendium of therapies and thought of a practice to surely relieve the lieutenants' obvious tensions. Worth a try as steady hands guided them thus far. He smiled. 

Irving drew his lower lip between his teeth and admonished himself for not averting his eyes. The table's groans reminded him of shifting bed frames while Little moved into a more exposed position. He prayed Little would remain strong when McDonald squeezed the bulb and rubbed the oil between his fingertips. How he prayed. 

Now Hodgson once nearly had a finger up his arse. An overzealous mouth of a woman believed it would make him finish faster. His prick retreated then he did. Little could not because he was quite impaled on a twisting and searching digit. Hell, do men truly leak as much as Little did? He dared shift his eyes to Irving, the man rosy-cheeked and tight bellied and _oh_. A sudden chord struck in his own groin and he insisted his body sink into itself. Retreat up and in but not in the same way McDonald seemed to seek in and up. 

If Irving moved or even stirred the air he'd spend onto his chest. He did during the occasions he succumbed to his mental temptations. For someone who held himself composed and even-keeled he often found himself overcome by his strokes to the point of forgetfulness. The flannel he kept by his side for a specific purpose remained there while he tensed and moved further from the peace he craved. After, with his chest and stomach sticky, he idly traced his fingers across his lips and tongue until they were mostly clean. The last time, always; he finally slew this devil. 

Good God, what a sight: the poor man still held his arse up! At a certain point, Hodgson believed, Little would regain his sanity. Certainly, George Hodgson would never say yes to being put in such a position. _I refuse_ he stated to himself and mentally strolled from the moment fully dressed with his dignity intact. His buttocks clenched and he set his jaw. As sure as the sun rose he would leave. 

McDonald continued to be the only movement in the room. 

Between the sun streaming through the skylight and the lanterns, the room was well illuminated. Irving focused on the steady line of fluid puddling between Little's swaying knees. The way sweat broke along his hairy thighs. He held none of the concentration and control others did. Quite a picture he'd soon present to his peers. Moaning and working his way back as _they_ did, the men who clenched around his prick while begging to be buggered harder. Only the alternating animalistic and soft meetings of their mouths silenced their combined cries. When Irving rolled his tongue around his dry mouth he felt a pang of loss. To those men he was nameless, another bearded face among the rest who gallopaded across squeaking floors. But when he reached they grasped him close. Handsome pretenders slipped so easily down his throat and tasted sweet. Shield your eyes and cover your ears, O Lord. Only the alley cats scream, only the cats cry out. 

“God.” Little gripped the table until his knuckles bleached white. McDonald paused then resumed the well-oiled slip of his fingers. How many, two or three? How many can be placed within him? Exhaling that thought into the world may be a dare if he weren’t careful. Suddenly they crooked and pushed and Little exclaimed louder and louder, jolted with a violent wave. Even with his prick hanging limp he released a seemingly endless supply of pleasure. No orgasm felt like this or left him babbling while his balls pulled closer to his body. All the tension and anxiety drained from him until he collapsed in his own spend. 

“You are finished.” But he did not want to be done; his untouched cock craved the same attention. Rendered bandy-legged Little noticed how both Hodgson and Irving appeared worse for wear, apple red and eyes squeezed shut in dreadful anticipation. He clutched the counter where they dutifully piled their clothing and attempted to steady himself. A call, a complaint about wetness, then an order to comply. Little twisted his head and saw how the glass perfectly framed Hodgson's pale body. He hung his legs over the side and tilted his hips in display. Irving quivered and his cock twitched slightly then slicked another bead of his arousal. Christ, they were all so fucking hard. Their eyes briefly met before darting back to the mirror. McDonald glided his fingers between Hodgson's thighs and without hesitation Little did the same.


End file.
